


Call Me Tundra Boy

by A_Little_Boosh_Maid



Category: The Mighty Boosh (TV)
Genre: Angst, Best Friends, Camping, Canon Divergence, Declarations Of Love, Episode: s01e04 Tundra, Friendship/Love, Gay Sex, M/M, Sexual Tension, Wilderness Survival, idiots to lovers, smut with feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-24
Updated: 2019-05-24
Packaged: 2020-03-13 06:28:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18935296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Little_Boosh_Maid/pseuds/A_Little_Boosh_Maid
Summary: This story was written for walkwithursus, who requested a story about Howard and Vince when they were in the Arctic, an episode with which we have a mutual obsession. Huge thanks to walkwithursus, who beta-ed the story and provided constant feedback and encouragement.





	Call Me Tundra Boy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [walkwithursus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/walkwithursus/gifts).



> I thought it was just about love, actually. This beautiful relationship these guys have with each other. You know, that's very magical. ~ Noel Fielding, on Arctic Boosh

Howard Moon trudged on the frozen tundra, one cold foot ahead of the other cold foot. He was freezing and miserable and, deep down, sure he was wasting his time on a wild goose chase. There could be only one person to blame for the situation he found himself in. It was Vince. Looking at the evidence rationally and objectively, this was all Vince's fault.

Most things were Vince's fault, if you traced them back to the source, like a finger running down a river on a map to see where it began. But he never got the blame for them. Maybe it was his innocent child gaze, or his air of sunshine and candy floss, or the way he'd suddenly distract you with a joke just as you were about to finally tell him off for good and all, or how he'd manage to turn it around and make everything _your_ fault instead. Like bringing up the Bovril Hula Hoops that Howard kept forgetting to buy him. I mean, why couldn't Vince buy his own bloody Hula Hoops?

Howard tried to think of something specific from their past that he could identify as being entirely Vince's fault, but to his annoyance, was unable to think of even one. Vince was like a cat burglar who wipes his fingerprints clean from the scene of the crime ... somehow there was no way to link Vince with any of the things he undoubtedly caused to happen.

Except in this case, it was clearly Vince's fault from the very beginning, and his little hepcat catpaw fingerprints were all over that hot tin roof, yes sir. Howard imagined himself as the detective who was detecting each print as he went.

Print the First. Vince had developed some stupid crush on Dixon Bainbridge, and couldn't shut up about how genius and amazing he was, just for going to the Arctic. It wasn't that Howard was jealous, obviously, but it was distressing to see a friend, a good friend like Vince, get completely sucked in by Bainbridge's stories. Vince was a little bit naive, and Howard would hate to see him taken advantage of by someone like Bainbridge, who would just use him and toss him aside once he'd had his fun. Howard would never, never do that to Vince.

Print the Second. Vince had even decided that he loved Bainbridge's moustache, and that Howard's just didn't count. That hurt. From the very first moment Howard had begun growing a moustache, Vince had been dismissive of it. "What's this thing?", he'd ask, running a finger across Howard's top lip, and then rubbing it every day, pretending to check whether it was growing yet, or saying that Howard had spilled coffee around his mouth, giving it a little lick as if to wipe away the coffee stain with his tongue. That wasn't giving Howard's moustache the respect it was due, which was painful enough, but then to find that Vince practically worshipped Bainbridge for having a moustache ... it wasn't to be borne.

Print the Third. Vince had told Bainbridge that it took Howard a month to grow a moustache, leaving him open to ridicule. If Vince wanted to have intimate little chats with Bainbridge, fine – he didn't care. But if those chats involved making fun of Howard behind his back and led to public humiliation, then that was nothing less than a betrayal.

Print the Fourth. When they were forced to go to Bainbridge's stupid lecture about the Arctic, Howard had thought it might be rather fun, in a way. He and Vince had sat up the back together, as they always did, and Howard had been making his usual witty jokes, subtly undermining Bainbridge to entertain Vince. That's how it always worked – Howard would make sarcastic comments about whatever they were listening to, Vince would laugh, they would get a warm sense of being the only two people in the world who really got how idiotic and pointless everyone else was. Except this time Vince had hardly paid Howard any attention at all. And then Vince's phone had gone off, and got them both in trouble, so that Bainbridge had publicly insulted him.

Print the Fifth. It had then become clear that there was only one option open to Howard, and that was to go to the Arctic, like Bainbridge, but unlike Bainbridge, he would actually bring back the stupid Egg of Mantumbi or whatever it was called. It wasn't that he particularly wanted to impress Vince or anything; he didn't need other people's approval, he was happy to say. No, it was simply that he had been put through so much much grief and heartache that this was the only way to get past it all.

Print the Sixth. Howard hadn't meant to leave for the Arctic immediately: there were lots of things to organise, he needed to save up, and the journey would take weeks, if not months. However, Vince had interferingly called Gary Numan, another man he had a stupid crush on, and made him take them to the Arctic in his private plane. Vince and Gary refused to listen to Howard's objections that he didn't like flying, there was no room for all his luggage on the aircraft, and that he hadn't had time to prepare.

Before Howard had a chance to really consider anything he found himself in Qaannaqq with just a winter tent and a few supplies, faced with the eternal white loneliness of the endless ice, and Gary Numan waving goodbye in a manner Howard could only describe as flippant. Upon the daunting sight of the frozen tundra before him, Howard's first thought had been: _This is all Vince's fault_.

******************************************************************

Eternally alone on the endless ice, snow swirling around him and getting trapped in his moustache, Howard reached into the pocket of his mink coat and took out the tape recorder he'd got a good deal on from Pete at Dixon's. He spoke into it quietly yet firmly, with just the right amount of dramatic timbre.

"Howard Moon's journal, day four. Many men have searched for the Egg of Mantumbi. Many have failed. One man shall succeed. And I, Howard Moon, shall be that man".

A snowball hit Howard hard in the face, and splattered. Vince laughed and pointed.

"Stop doing that", Howard chastised him. "It isn't funny".

"It's hilarious", Vince giggled.

"It isn't, okay?", Howard insisted. "Do it again, and I'll come at you like a buzzard".

Vince had just stood there grinning like an idiot in front of him, radiating happiness, acting as if they'd flown all this way to play in the snow. Because of course Vince had come with Howard. Hadn't even asked, had just assumed that Howard would want him there, that anything Howard planned would involve both of them.

Howard thought Vince was only coming in the plane to see him off. Then Gary had waved goodbye, Howard had looked down to check he had all his luggage, and realised that Vince was standing next to him. Vince had waved at the plane while giving Howard an expectant smile, as if asking what fun thing they were going to do next.

"Vince? What are you - ", Howard had begun.

"Isn't the Arctic genius, Howard?", Vince had said enthusiastically. "I've never seen so much ice and snow. It's like Christmas every day here".

"Vince, did you bring anything with you?", Howard had demanded.

His heart fell when Vince had turned and given him his blankest, most artless expression.

"Nothing ... nothing at all?", Howard asked, fearing the worst.

"It's alright, Howard", Vince had assured him. "I can share your tent – we'll be warmer with both of us in one. And I don't eat much. I've got a few packets of sweets in my coat pockets. And I'd have Bovril Hula Hoops, except you never bought them for me".

That was the problem with Vince – he'd not only forced Howard to go to the Arctic and invited himself along, he hadn't brought anything for the grim ordeal ahead of them except a few packets of sweets. And he was still making out that Howard was to blame for it all.

************************************************************************

Vince was woefully underdressed for the Arctic. A red and white ski suit, fluffy pink faux fur boots, pink and white faux fur coat, pink string beanie, and pink woolly gloves. Most of the time he didn't even bother wearing his coat, skipping about in the freezing cold in just the ski suit, accessorised with a head band and a stripe of white warpaint across his nose. He told Howard it would protect his nose from frostbite, while also making him look like Adam Ant.

Howard refused to admit it, but the ski suit bothered him. Vince called it his glam rock ski suit, its white lightning flash against red a subtle tribute to Bowie in his Aladdin Sane period. Howard sneered that it made Vince look like a human Coke can. The truth was, Howard found the ski suit ... distracting. It was too bright, too loud. Visually noisy. Like a glam rock band dancing towards him every day.

The shiny material clung seductively to every curve, and for a thin person, Vince had quite a few curves. The curve of his waist, the curve of his slender hips, little curves for his perky tits, the curve of his pumpkin arse that was, distressingly, just the right size for Howard to cup his hand around. Curves along his firm, muscular thighs, and most especially hard for Howard to tear his shifty eyes away from, the curve between them that might more accurately be called a bulge. Howard spent a lot of time trying not to think about that bulge, and what it represented.

And most skilfully seductive of all, the zip that went down the front of the ski suit, almost inviting a hand to tug it in one swift movement from neck to navel. Howard pushed away thoughts of unzipping Vince slowly, stealthily, as if doing something quite different, followed by thoughts of doing it briskly, boldly, as a _fait accompli_.

Howard gave a sort of mental cough, and wondered why Vince couldn't wear a sensible, warm, and most of all, modest mink coat and hat. There was no reason why an Arctic ensemble could not be both stylish and practical – you could call his Luxury Tundra, he thought to himself. The point was, it kept him completely covered from head to toe.

At this moment, Howard pointed out the distant horizon to Vince, and his coat swung open. Vince playfully put his hands over Howard's chest, and tickled his stomach.

"Don't touch me", snapped Howard, aghast at how close the ski suit had got to him. "Not here, not at the zoo, not ever".

Vince looked hurt, his ice blue eyes wide with surprise.

"You never said that to me before", he said in a bewildered voice. "What's wrong?".

"Nothing's wrong. It's just that we're in the Arctic and we have to take this seriously. It's a harsh environment, it's kill or be killed out here".

"What, so you thought I was trying to kill you?", asked Vince, screwing up his forehead in confusion.

"Yes. No. The point is – it's time for you to put the tent up for the night", said Howard quickly.

He had found the only way to keep thoughts of the ski suit at bay was to continually give Vince little tasks to do. While Vince toiled away putting up the tent and making cups of tea, Howard could look in the opposite direction and do his journal, or scan the horizon for approaching danger. Vince moaned that Howard was treating him like a pit pony and making him do all the work, but Howard thought that was preferable to Vince having his ski suit wrestled off him, his pale skin bare against the snow, his dark hair in disarray as Howard forced his ... Howard shook himself.

At night, Howard was uncomfortably close to the ski suit, but at least it was dark in the tent and he couldn't see it. He'd given Vince his sleeping bag but made him sleep on the other side of the tent. Howard wrapped himself in his furs and in the spare rugs and blankets. No matter how cold he got, he would never ask Vince if he could get closer to him. That way madness lay.

*****************************************************************

"So why am I digging this hole, exactly?", asked Vince as he dug with a spade into the ice.

"You're digging for fish so we can eat", replied Howard, as he scanned the horizon with his binoculars. "Those packets of sweets weren't going to last forever, you know".

"But why am I doing the digging?", Vince whined. "I put the tent up, now I'm digging. What are you doing?".

"I'm assessing the local atmospheric disturbances, documenting the journey", replied Howard, keeping his eyes carefully averted from the ski suit. "You're working, raising your body temperature. It's actually harder for me to do nothing than it is for you to dig that hole".

He gave Vince his most patronising expression before swirling his coat around and returning to staring at the horizon, which was nowhere near the ski suit, and therefore a very soothing sight.

"I'd like to see you down here, moving a shovel about", said Vince in a mutinous mutter, giving the back of Howard's fur hat a filthy look.

Howard pretended he hadn't heard, and moved further away from Vince to make this more convincing. He decided to walk far enough that Vince was hidden from sight behind a drift of snow, as the thought of Vince's body getting warmer and damper under the ski suit was starting to raise his body temperature as well.

Suddenly Howard heard a scream. He looked through the binoculars, but couldn't see Vince anywhere. Howard ran towards the place Vince had vanished as fast as his heavy coat would allow him, and found that there was now a hole in the ice filled with dark water where Vince had been standing.

"Vince, Vince!", Howard cried, struggling out of his coat. "Oh my God, Vince!".

He lay down and frantically reached into the water, trying to feel for Vince. _Feeling for his body_ , said a ghoulish voice in his head which he angrily told to shut up. His arm and shoulder were freezing, and he couldn't imagine how cold Vince must be. At last he thought he felt something brush against his fingertips, and he leaned right down deep into the water until he could feel Vince.

Howard put his face and both arms into the water, and got a grip on Vince's shoulders, pulling him out of the ice hole. Vince's head lolled alarmingly, his eyes closed. His mouth hung slack, water trickling from his lips. Howard grit his teeth and told himself at least Vince wasn't breathing in water any more. He made a colossal effort, and dragged Vince from the water by his hips, lying him on the ice while Howard hunched over for a few seconds, coughing out salt water.

Vince was blue with cold, and completely still. A line from an English Literature class cruelly flicked through Howard's mind: _Death, that hath suck'd the honey of thy breath, hath had no power yet upon thy beauty_. He ignored it and grimly began performing CPR, refusing to think about anything except helping Vince. It wouldn't help Vince if he went to pieces or cried, so he didn't. Vince had gone to Monkey Hell to bring Howard back from the brink of death: the least he could do was concentrate on giving him a chance now.

The rhythm of CPR was helping him to focus. His hands pressed down on Vince's chest, counting until it was time to put his mouth over Vince's again, giving Vince his breath. There was nothing in his mind now except _Please, please, please. Please don't die,_ _Vince. Please don't let Vince die_. At last Vince was breathing on his own, but still unconscious, and cold to the touch. Howard unzipped Vince's ski suit and removed it; wet clothing would only make Vince colder. He carefully wrapped Vince in his fur coat and held him in his arms as he made his way towards the tent.

As he carried Vince, an exhausted Howard desperately tried to remember everything he'd ever been told about falling into ice water. Heavy people tended to survive longer: Vince was thin. Women often seemed to do better: Vince was a man. Older people were likely to last longer: Vince was young, a thin young man. It took a long time to die of hypothermia, even in ice water, but the shock of the cold itself could cause the heart to fail almost at once. Sometimes there was a delay – the person would be rescued, they would seem fine, but a few hours later they would suddenly die.

There was one thing Howard had been taught about ice fishing that kept pounding through his head like a heavy black migraine: that you should never be alone. It was too dangerous – you needed someone to watch out for you, to help you if you fell in, and to administer immediate first aid. Howard had walked away from Vince, he had turned his back on him. It had taken him at least a minute to reach the ice hole, and more than another minute to haul Vince out. He should never have made Vince dig for fish when he was already tired from putting up the tent.

"Vince, what have I done?", groaned Howard. "This is all my fault".

Amongst the clamour of awful voices in his head saying fiendish things, the worst of all was the voice of Dixon Bainbridge. Not his sneers against Howard or his ridiculous stories starring himself as the hero. No, the torture was hearing Bainbridge's voice singing the same words again and again, like a stuck record.

_Once upon a time I was falling in love, but now I'm only falling apart_  
_There's nothing I can do, a total eclipse of the heart_

*******************************************************************

Vince opened his eyes, but still couldn't see anything.

"Howard?", he said into the darkness.

"Oh Vince, thank God you're awake", said Howard in relief.

Howard's voice was warm and reassuring, very close to his ear. Vince realised that Howard had his arms around him, was perhaps holding him.

"Where am I?", asked Vince. "And why is everything dark?".

"You're in the Arctic", said Howard. "We're in a tent together, and it gets dark early this time of year. It's only late afternoon".

"Howard, why am I naked?", asked Vince.

"You fell into ice water, Vince", said Howard sombrely. "I had to take your ski suit off, because you were freezing cold, and wearing wet clothes would have made it worse".

"Oh, okay", said Vince.

"Your ski suit is drying in front of the camp stove", Howard said. "It will be okay to wear again in a few hours".

"And why are you naked, Howard?", asked Vince, with a slight smirk in his voice.

"I am administering first aid", said Howard pompously. "I do have some medical training, you know".

"Oh yeah? Where did you study – The College of Filthy Physicians?", giggled Vince.

"Wilderness Survival Certificate, First Class", said Howard proudly.

"And it says we both have to be naked, does it?", said Vince warily.

"Of course, Vince", said Howard. "How else can I efficiently transmit my body heat to you?".

"How long have you been doing that?", Vince asked curiously.

"Must be hours by now", said Howard. "I was so worried when you didn't wake up".

"I _am_ very warm", Vince admitted.

"I wrapped you in my furs, then got into the sleeping bag, and pulled you in with me", said Howard. "Then I held you to my body so you could receive the benefit of my core body heat".

"So you've been cuddling me in the sleeping bag naked for hours?", asked Vince, sounding as if he was on the verge of laughter.

"Not _cuddling_ , Vince", said Howard impatiently. "Giving you the benefit of efficient heat transfer, that's all, to avoid the risk of hypothermia".

"Mm, okay", said Vince, sounding suspiciously as if he was sniggering.

"Vince, how did you fall into the water?", asked Howard. "The last thing I knew, you were still digging, then you were gone".

"I finished making a good-sized fishing hole", said Vince, screwing up his face and trying to remember. "I leaned over to look for fish ... and then I saw my reflection in the water. I looked terrible – my hair had split ends and my skin was all chapped! I screamed at how bad I looked, and leaned over more to try to fix my hair. But I must've leaned over too much, because I fell in".

"I'm so glad you screamed", said Howard fervently. "Apart from that, I didn't hear anything. Not even a splash when you hit the water".

"Like a good screamer, do you?", snickered Vince.

"That scream saved your life", said Howard solemnly. "So yes, I like that you screamed a lot".

They didn't talk for a while, Vince enjoying the sensation of being in furs that smelled deliciously of Howard, being held tight in Howard's strong arms. He thought he could get used to this, and he was pretty sure Howard was enjoying it too.

"Howard, did you know you've got a stiffy?", said Vince conversationally.

"That's a natural response to fear, completely normal", said Howard, nonetheless sounding embarrassed. "It's covered in the Wilderness Survival Certificate. I was scared of losing you, Vince."

"You must have been really, really scared then", purred Vince.

Howard didn't say anything, but Vince could feel Howard's face get warmer, and he guessed he was blushing. Vince wanted to give Howard a comforting pat, but found that Howard had him so well wrapped in furs and the sleeping bag that he couldn't move his arms.

"Howard, I'm jammed in here like a sardine in a maisonette", said Vince. "Any chance of me getting to wriggle around a bit?".

"Well I wanted to make sure you were properly warm, but you've been out of the water a while now. I'll unzip the bag slightly".

Howard pulled down the zip a little, upon which Vince poked his head out and discovered it wasn't really that dark after all – there was enough light that he could see the inside of the dimly-lit tent. Howard had been so worried about Vince getting cold that he'd cocooned him down in the sleeping bag against his chest, and wrapped the furs almost over his face.

"Howard, are you sure I could actually breathe like that?", Vince asked in some indignation.

"You had wet hair – I wanted to keep it covered. And every once in a while I gave you some of my breath, just to be sure", said Howard.

"You put your mouth over mine?", said Vince in shock. "You've been cuddling and kissing me in the nude for hours?".

"Not kissing, Vince", said Howard patiently. "Just giving you my breath. What do you think I did after pulling you from the water?".

Vince was seldom lost for words, but he felt all over the shop and as if he'd woken up in the future. Howard had gone wrong ... but somehow he just made Vince want to laugh and laugh. Howard always did. He'd gone from "don't touch me" to pressing his naked body against Vince's and getting a massive stiffy, yet he saw no contradiction. Vince didn't really understand the way Howard's mind worked, but it made Howard the funniest person Vince had ever met, and trying to figure him out was something he never got tired of.

He put an affectionate arm around Howard's neck, and gently touched the tip of his nose.

"Your nose is all red and raw", he noted. "If we go on holiday to the seaside, you get sunburnt. If we go to the Arctic, you get .... snow burnt".

"Oh well I've got a bit of frost bite, Vince", said Howard. "I did have to perform a daring rescue in the icy sea, you know".

"I'm little Johnny Frostbite, moving around, freezing you up, freezing you down like an icicle", said Vince, running his fingers up and down Howard's back, giving him goosebumps.

Howard knew how to respond to a crimp, this was child's play, so straight away he came back with, "Call me Tundra Boy, because I move like an Arctic ... er, lizard".

Howard moved his hands over Vince like a lizard scurrying about until Vince gave a little squeal, and then wiggled around as if trying to escape. The result of this was that he was now lying on top of Howard.

"I should probably warm you up and all", Vince suggested. "Give you the benefit of my core body temperament. To lower your risk of hypertension".

"I don't think that's necessary", said Howard, sounding a bit nervous, but not moving.

"You know Howard, I think I must be getting scared too", said Vince with a cheeky grin, holding his body against Howard so he could feel his fear. The fear pressed against Howard's abdomen, and seemed to make him feel even more scared.

"Perfectly normal", said Howard in a tight voice. "We're in a dangerous environment, facing a life or death struggle ... uh, probably a delayed reaction to falling in the water. Do you feel okay otherwise?".

"Mm yeah, I feel quite good actually", murmured Vince.

He began gently rubbing himself against Howard in a soft slow rhythm that Howard thought was almost like being rocked to sleep. Except that it didn't make him feel sleepy, but was beginning to wake his body up, all over.

Vince went on, "Coming in your tent in the pink light, scissor bite".

He turned his fingers into scissor hands to playfully attack Howard, his fingertips rubbing against Howard's nipples, then gently bit him on the neck. Howard would normally have protested this treatment, but Vince was luring him in with a crimp, and he had to answer.

Howard panted, "When the blizzard strikes, I disappear like a pipe dream. All that's left is a gleam on a tent peg".

Both their cocks were smooth and slippery with precum, and Vince moaned as he rubbed himself faster against Howard. His cock was so hard that it ached, needing Howard's touch.

"Christy, Tundra Boy, you're huge", Vince said with a little hitch in his voice.

"You're not so little yourself, Little Johnny Frostbite", growled Howard, beginning to lift his hips to reach towards Vince.

He wanted Vince to stop. He would never speak to Vince again if he stopped. He should really stop this himself. He had to stop this. It wasn't possible to stop. Oh God Vince, please don't stop. All these thoughts went through Howard's mind simultaneously.

Vince was now kneeling, riding Howard between his firm muscular thighs. Vince's hands burrowed in Howard's fine brown hair, his lips on Howard's neck. Vince could feel the thick shaft of Howard's cock between his legs, the head of it rubbing the crease of his arse until he thought he was going to go completely mental. Vince was keening, his voice going higher and higher with every stroke. Another minute of this, and only huskies and malamutes would be able to hear him.

There was nothing in Howard's mind except: _Ice flow nowhere to go, lost in the blinding whiteness of the tundra ... Oh fuck oh fuck ... Arctic death, infinite night_.

Vince sighed and lay down with his head tucked into Howard's shoulder. He could do with a little sleepie now. Howard pulled the sleeping bag up over them, and tucked the fur coat tenderly around Vince's shoulders. He hoped it hadn't been too much physical strain on Vince after his ordeal, and that Vince hadn't got a chill being on top. This hadn't been covered by the Wilderness Survival Certificate, First Class, and that worried him.

Howard cleared his throat a few times, as if preparing to make an official announcement of some sort.

"Vince, this is difficult for me, but I feel as though I should say this. I love you, Vince".

There was no reply from Vince, but Howard could feel him shaking against his shoulder.

"Are you laughing at me?", Howard asked in a hurt tone.

"Howard you berk, you don't have to say _I love you_ just because we got off together", said Vince, with the ghost of a giggle in his voice.

"It had nothing to do with that, you little titbox!", Howard said crossly. "Well, maybe it helped me be a bit more relaxed about it, but ...".

"Oh right, that's all it was then, you feeling _relaxed_ ", spat back Vince, suddenly in a fury.

He sat up as if about to get out of the sleeping bag, but Howard pulled him back down, hard. It was harder than Howard had really meant, and Vince fell onto his chest.

"Wow, you're stronger than a moose, Howard", said Vince, sounding awed.

"I'm sorry, but it's too cold to get out of the sleeping bag, and your clothes won't be completely dry yet", said Howard firmly. "And you need to listen to me now, properly".

He cleared his throat a few more times, while Vince looked at him curiously.

"When you fell into the water, I thought I'd lost you", said Howard, doing his best to keep his voice even. "I ... I couldn't stand it, Vince. I couldn't have gone on without you, knowing it was all my fault".

Vince slipped his hand into Howard's big bear paw, and squeezed it.

"But you saved me Howard. It doesn't matter now, I'm safe, and it's all because of you", he said.

"And it was during that dark time, Vince", continued Howard doggedly, "during those terrible moments when you'd disappeared, that I knew I would do anything to have you back. I knew ... I knew I loved you, Vince. More than anything else in the world".

"I love you too", said Vince. "Have done for ages".

Vince put his lips to Howard's, but he wasn't giving him mouth to mouth. Howard had often wondered what it would be like to have Vince kiss him, and now he knew. It felt wonderful. Better than getting off with him, in a way. Howard gave a timid kiss back.

"Hold me", Howard said quietly, and Vince put his arms around Howard, and they lay there together, wrapped in furs and a polar sleeping bag, listening to the wind howl outside their tent.

*********************************************************************

"So what do we do now?", asked Vince, zipping up his glam rock ski suit and pulling on his pink faux fur boots. "How are we going to find this Egg of Mantumbi thing?".

"To Monkey Hell with the stupid Egg of Mantumbi", said Howard, who could now look at the ski suit and feel nothing but pleasure. "I'm not risking your life again for it, Vince. Let's just go back to Qaanaaqq – we can be there in less than a week if we hurry".

"I'll call Gary Numan", said Vince happily, grabbing his mobile.

Howard didn't feel jealous of Gary Numan any more. He was a fine pilot, and it had actually been pretty decent of him to drop whatever he was doing and fly them to the Arctic. That's a lot more than most celebrities will do for their fans. He started rifling through their packs.

"Do you want something to eat, Vince?", asked Howard, when Vince had finished his phone call.

"Yeah – except, Howard ... I never caught any fish", said Vince, looking guilty.

"Don't worry, little man. I've got it sorted", said Howard.

"You have?".

"Yep. You see, I really did buy you those Bovril Hula Hoops after all!".

Howard held the packet up triumphantly.

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't a realistic portrayal of Arctic trekking and camping, or of wilderness survival. Please do not rely on any of this to help you in an emergency situation. In particular, when Howard is in a panic, all sorts of misinformation go through his head, like a lot of us when we're faced with danger. When he's gloomily assessing Vince's survival after being in ice water, he is getting confused with being actually immersed in ice water for some time – in which case, being heavier, older, and possibly a woman is something of a plus for survival. However, Vince has drowned in ice water and was only submerged for 2-3 minutes. Like most things, being young and healthy is the biggest predictor of survival in this situation, and drowning in freezing water actually gives you better odds. Howard is also confused about cases where people are rescued from drowning, seem fine, and then unexpectedly die later – it isn't because of the shock to the heart, but the drowning itself which kills them (secondary drowning). Shocks to the heart from severe cold cause a sudden death, not a delayed one. Howard did do the right thing in removing Vince's wet clothes, wrapping him in dry ones, and holding him to his naked body to prevent hypothermia, although he probably could have just unbuttoned his own shirt or something; I presume his own clothes were wet and needed drying off anyway. All I can tell you is keep an eye on friends if you're messing around near water, stay warm in cold climates, and do learn CPR. In real life, always take someone to hospital after being submerged in water for some time, even if they seem alright. I don't recommend getting off with someone after drowning, but near death experiences do often make people feel aroused. 
> 
> The quote Howard recalls from English Literature class is from "Romeo and Juliet". In the play, Romeo marvels at how beautiful Juliet looks in death, which was a honking great clue he missed that she was actually still alive. Howard's subconscious is not cruel, but trying to warn him that Vince is likewise alive, and not to take the same path as Romeo. 
> 
> I know the "Tundra Rap" isn't a crimp – it's artistic licence or something.


End file.
